


sick day

by papercranium



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Concerned Tony, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Irondad, Irondad & Spiderson, Not Beta Read, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter throws up but it’s not too graphic, Smol Peter Parker, Steve Rogers is not a villain, Whump, lil peetie prob never got vaccinated, mild angst but like not really, obligatory sickfic because why not, spiderson, we die like clowns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-12
Updated: 2019-10-12
Packaged: 2020-12-13 18:50:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21002483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/papercranium/pseuds/papercranium
Summary: Steve blew his whistle. “One more lap, son! You’re doing great!”Tony watched Peter run past. He was clearly not doing great—his pace was more like a weak stumble at this point.“He’s been a tad sluggish today,” commented Steve.—In which peter has the big sicc—





	sick day

**Author's Note:**

> digging through some old fics I wrote like a year ago and I found this one
> 
> its probably pretty bad but I just rly love sickfics so hee hee no regerts

Steve blew his whistle. “One more lap, son! You’re doing great!”  
Tony watched Peter run past. He was clearly not doing great—his pace was more like a weak stumble at this point.  
“He’s been a tad sluggish today,” commented Steve.  
Tony glanced up, crossing his arms. “You haven’t been overworking him, have you? Because so help me, I will—”  
“Hey, don’t blow a fuse, alright? He’s probably just a bit tired. Actually—” Steve lowered his voice “—he has two more laps to go, but I’m letting him off the hook after this one. He doesn’t know.”  
Tony’s brow furrowed. “Huh.”  
The two watched as Peter finished running the gym’s perimeter and halted at Steve’s side. Wiping his nose on the edge of his t-shirt, he bent over, gasping for breath. “Hi, Mr. Stark,” he gasped, grinning tiredly.  
Tony offered a tight-lipped smile. The poor kid looked pretty awful—his face was noticeably paler than usual.  
“Nice work, Peter.” Steve clapped a hand on the boy’s shoulder and he almost stumbled. “Just twenty push-ups, and you’re done for the day, okay?”  
Peter’s face fell. He nodded, taking a deep breath and lowering himself to the floor. Before he could finish his first push-up, however, Tony interrupted. “Okay, no. No. Peter, you can get up. You’re done, okay?”  
Peter looked up weakly. “No, I’m good, I’m fine. Lemme just—”  
“No. Come on up—”  
“Let him finish it, Tony,” Steve interjected.  
Tony frowned, helping Peter to his feet and picking up his drawstring bag. “He’s shaking. You’re shaking, Pete, come on.”  
Peter sighed softly, but he let Tony help him up. His arms and legs were indeed shaking. “Thanks, Captain Rogers,” he sniffled.  
Steve smiled. “Of course, pal. Have a good one. And take care of yourself, alright?”  
Peter nodded feebly as Tony ushered him out the doors.  
As they made their way down the hall, Tony reached into his bag. “You must be exhausted, kid. Here.” He held out Peter’s water bottle. “Drink some.”  
“‘m not thirsty. I’m fine.” Peter rubbed at his eyes. Tony frowned.  
“Okay. Uh. Well, at least take this.” He fumbled inside the bag again and pulled out a granola bar. “Get your energy up and all that.”  
Peter sluggishly pushed it away, wrinkling his nose. “Don’t want it. I’m not hungry.”  
Tony bit his lip, now almost certain that something was wrong. Peter was always hungry.  
“Actually—um—could I have my jacket?”  
“Your jack—Peter, no. Aren’t you sweating? You’ll overheat!”  
“I’m cold,” Peter insisted.   
Sighing, Tony pulled Peter’s jacket out of the bag and passed it to him. Peter slid it on gratefully as they reached Tony’s car (STARK 14).  
“You sure you’re feeling okay, kid? You’re looking a little under the weather,” Tony mentioned hesitantly, starting up the car.  
Peter nodded. “Yeah. ‘m just kinda tired I guess. And my head sort of hurts.” He sniffled weakly. “Probably just allergies.”  
Tony’s brow furrowed in concern. “Probably.” He watched Peter buckle his seatbelt and let his head rest on the car window.  
The ride home was mostly quiet, aside from Peter’s occasional sniffle. Every so often, Tony glanced over at him, but he just stared lethargically out the window at the darkening sky.  
By the time they made it home, Peter was already half-asleep, though the ride was only a brief fifteen minutes or so.  
Unsure of how to wake him up, Tony placed a painstakingly gentle hand on Peter’s shoulder. “Hey, uh…kid?”  
Peter blinked awake, scrubbing at his eyes with his sleeve. “Huh?”  
“Hi. We’re home, alright? Hang on, I’m gonna help you out, okay?”  
Peter nodded groggily, not even bothering to resist.  
As they made their way up the front path, Tony put a steadying arm around his shoulders. He could feel an unusual amount of heat radiating from Peter’s body, and watched in dismay as he shakily zipped up his jacket. “You sure you aren’t feeling hot or anything?”  
Peter just shrugged in weak resignation. He certainly looked a lot paler than earlier, but maybe Tony was just seeing things. It could be just odd lighting.  
Tony fumbled to unlock the door with his free hand. Ushering Peter inside, he closed the door and took off his blazer, heading to the kitchen. “Okay,” he called. “I’m gonna figure out something for dinner. You just go ahead and sit down on the couch, alright? And then we’ll figure out—”  
“Mr. Stark?” Peter called faintly.  
“Yeah?” Tony hurried into the living room, where Peter stood almost frozen still. His arm was wrapped around himself; one hand tugged at his collar. “I… I don’t feel so good.”  
He then promptly threw up onto the floor, sinking to the ground as his knees buckled beneath him.  
Tony rushed to Peter’s side, ignoring the mess on the floor. He knelt down and placed a hand on Peter’s heaving shoulders. “Jesus, kid, are you alright?”  
Peter shook his head silently, and Tony noticed that his eyes were glistening with tears. Tony softened, cursing himself. “Hey, you’re okay. Just—just keep breathing for me, okay?”  
Peter began to sob, wiping his mouth with his jacket sleeve. “I’m—so—sorry,” he hiccuped. More bile spilled onto the floor. “I—let me—I can clean it, I’ll clean it up—” Peter attempted to stand up, but Tony held him down and he collapsed limply to the floor again. The sobbing continued. Tony rubbed his hand soothingly across Peter’s shuddering shoulders. “Hey, Peter. Peter, look at me.”  
Peter’s red-rimmed eyes met Tony’s.  
“I’ll handle it. I’ve got it, okay? All I need you to do is get yourself a glass of water. And then you’re gonna go upstairs and clean yourself up. Take a hot shower or something, okay? Can you do that for me?”  
Peter nodded, snuffling. He stood up tremblingly with Tony’s help, and shuffled off up the stairs. Tony called after him. “Don’t worry about it, Peter, okay?”  
Then, grimacing at the mess, Tony stood up. Time to find the gloves and Clorox.

Pepper arrived home a few minutes later. She opened the front door to find Tony kneeling on the floor, wearing yellow rubber gloves and scrubbing at it aggressively.  
Pepper frowned, taking off her high heels. “I’m home. What happened? You spill red wine on the carpet again?  
Tony sat up. He glared at Pepper, but let her press a brief kiss to his forehead. “Actually, no. The, uh…the kid was feeling kind of queasy, and…” He gestured vaguely to the floor.  
Pepper bit her lip. “Poor guy.” She began to unpin her bun. “Want me to bring him some crackers or something? Just to settle his stomach?”  
“Oh…”  
“What? What is it?”  
“Was I supposed to do that?” Tony stood up.  
“I mean, I can just bring them up to him now,” Pepper replied.  
Tony shook his head. “No, no. Let me—I’ll do it.”  
“Are you sure? You seem a little preoccupied, and—”  
“I’ll do it, Pep,” Tony insisted stubbornly, already heading for the kitchen.  
Pepper allowed herself a smile, following him to the pantry. “You’re sweet, you know that?” she chuckled.  
Tony turned around, smirk on his lips and box of Saltines in his hand. “Oh I do know that. And I’m also a playboy billionaire.” He tucked a strand of hair behind Pepper’s ear, giving her a tender kiss. “And a good kisser, huh? And a genius.”  
Pepper shoved him gently. “Oh, shut up.”  
Tony grinned. “You know it.”  
“Just go on up there and talk to him, okay?” Pepper nodded to the staircase. “He needs you.”  
Tony set his jaw suddenly. “Right. Okay.”

Peter’s bedroom door was half open, but Tony knocked anyway. “Peter? Kiddo? It’s Tony.”  
A pause.  
“Come in,” came the weak reply.  
Tony nudged the door open with his shoulder. On his bed, Peter lay limply on his side. His hair was still damp from the shower, and he had changed into sweatpants and an I♡NY sweatshirt.  
Tony came in and sat down gingerly on the bed next to him. “Hey, kid. You feel any better?”  
Peter shrugged sleepily. “I dunno.”  
“Okay. Well, uh, Pepper got home, and she told me to bring you these.” Tony held out a sleeve of the crackers.  
Peter fiddled with his sweatshirt strings. “I don’t want them. ‘m not hungry.”  
“Yeah, I know. But just one or two? It might make you feel better.”  
Peter winced, sighing. Tony unwrapped the sleeve and held out a cracker. “Go on, just one for good ol’ Mr. Stark?” He pulled a pout and immediately felt incredibly stupid, but Peter smiled weakly and all of a sudden he didn’t feel so bad.  
Peter took the cracker from his hand and nibbled at it tentatively. He paused, though, after a few bites, and Tony noticed that his eyes were watering again. “What’s wrong, Pete?”  
Peter swiped at his eyes. “I just—Mr. Stark, I’m sorry.” His voice wavered.  
“Sorry? Peter, listen.” Tony put his hand on Peter’s shoulder. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”  
“But—but what about downstairs, and—”  
“Peter, you couldn’t help it. It’s not your fault. Come on, didn’t I tell you not to worry about it? Oh, kid…”  
A tear leaked down the side of Peter’s face. He scrubbed at it with his sleeve, sniffling. Awkwardly, Tony reached out and brushed a strand of hair off of Peter’s forehead. “This isn’t just because of downstairs, is it?”  
Peter flicked his gaze to his fingers. “I dunno, I just don’t want to—to let you down, you know? I mean, you’re Tony Stark, and—” He gulped, wiping his nose “—and you’re just doing so much for me, s-some random nerd kid, and—”  
“Peter.”  
“—and you’re just, just, a hero and, like, you always know what to do, and I’m just a catastrophe all the time, and basically I-I’m just not doing good enough to—”   
“Peter.”  
Peter looked up nervously at Tony. “I just feel like I have to be more,” he finished meekly.  
Tony took a deep breath. “Peter, you don’t have to be anything, you understand? I mean, you’re what—twelve?”  
“Sixteen.” Peter glared feebly at him.  
“I’m joking. My point is, you’re just a kid. And when I was your age, I was a complete disaster. Just a total mess. Ask Rhodey. Hell, ask anyone.”  
A brief smile ghosted Peter’s lips, and Tony continued. “I dunno. Maybe it’s just part of growing up. But you can’t just go around comparing yourself to other people like that, okay? You’ve got a whole life to live ahead of you, so just take it all in a little bit at a time. Enjoy yourself. Don’t worry about the big stuff.” He paused, softening his tone. “You don’t have to grow up and save the world all at once.”  
Peter let out a quiet sigh. “Yeah. I know.”  
“Please don’t stress, okay? It’s not good for you. Speaking of which—” Tony rested a hand on Peter’s forehead. “You’re still pretty feverish.”  
Peter nodded sleepily, stifling a yawn.  
“And you must be exhausted. What am I thinking?” Tony stood up carefully, giving Peter a final pat on the shoulder. He placed the sleeve of crackers on the side table. “I’ll leave these here.”  
“Okay,” Peter mumbled.  
“Try and get some rest, okay? You need your sleep. And if you need anything,” Tony added, moving to the doorway and flicking off the light, “come get me. Okay? Anything at all.”  
“Mr. Stark?” called Peter faintly.  
“Uh-huh?”  
“Goodnight.”  
“Goodnight, kiddo.”


End file.
